


Burning Desire

by MadeofLilies



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, F/M, Flirting, Guns, Intimacy, Romance, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeofLilies/pseuds/MadeofLilies
Summary: A late night at some trashy bar gets John a whole lot more than he bargained for but he’ll have to put on a fight just to keep it.





	1. Curiosity Killed The Cat

The bar is tens of conversations told in loud voices, slurred words coming from dirty, drunk mouths that only cease their talk to burp like filthy beasts that they are. Their mindless talk barely competes with the shitty music dominating the room.

John hates this place.

The crowd is odd, yet not so unexpected in a place like this; with half-broken lights and a most disgusting odor coming from inside where the bathrooms lie. He winds his way through large bodies to order a drink – whiskey. Before the drink is poured he takes a look around, feeling the air tense impossibly at the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

Or rather, the sight of someone picking it up.

John Wick has never been a curious man, he prides himself in that. Yet when the entirety of the crowd turns heads to look at one particular woman, he finds it hard to resist the temptation.

Still, all he catches is a glimpse of cleavage as you lean down to collect your bag before quickly repositioning yourself, leaving hungry eyes of men watching you from all around. John wrinkles his nose in disgust when a few gruesome comments happen to reach his ears, but you seem entirely oblivious to them. Or maybe immune, he thinks.

Some eyes remain on you shamelessly while others go back to their drinking feasts. He finds it impossible to stop staring now as if captured by the image of you stirring your drink with your finger.

Your legs cross and uncross, your bottom seems to move around relentlessly until you’re finally settled and comfortable, sipping your awfully-made cocktail without ever taking your eyes off the bottle on the shelf in front of you. John can’t help but wonder what’s so fascinating about a bottle of gin.

You don’t seem to agree since your eyes never leave it.

He tries to look away and it’s like pulling at an invisible leash. There’s some sense of freedom that follows and his attention returns to the drink in his hands. The soft amber color belies the harsh taste. The whiskey burns on the way down but he’s not a child to splutter. He downs the rest in one shot and asks for another.

And then the leash pulls back at him and his eyes are on you in an instant, once again magnetized by some force he can’t quite understand.

“You seem to have a lot of eyes on you.”

You turn at the sound of his voice and he almost feels pride swell in his chest at the fact that he got your attention. Your eyes are gleaming in the low light as they scan him and a dimply smile appears on your lips that makes a little something stir inside his stomach.

“As long as it’s only their eyes, I’ll be fine.”

He smirks at the teasing hint in your tone. A minx of a woman you are, he can see that. Smarter than any man in this shithole, that’s for sure.

“Is it often more than just eyes?”

“Some get a little handsy, but nothing I can’t handle… some buy me a drink and expect it to go a long way from there.”

“And it doesn’t?”

“Sure not.”

“I see, but what kind of girl frequents a place like this when she doesn’t even like the other patrons?”

You mirror his smirk and go back to stirring your drink, your legs uncrossing to balance yourself better.

“Best kind.”

John can’t help but smile at your answer, the edges of his lips quirking up for the first time in ages. He’s taken a liking into you and he doesn’t even know your name.

_It’s a first for him._

“Very well then, what does get a man a long way from here?”

Your laugh is the most delightful sound he’s heard, so delightful in fact that it almost drowns out the hum that’s been housed in his ears for fucking ever. Guns do that to you.

He makes a note of that but any other thought is quickly forgotten as soon as a look of what he can only describe as mirth appears in those beautiful eyes of yours.

“Buy me breakfast.”


	2. The Gifts of Venus

His hands are gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Your skirt is riding up from where you sit on the passenger’s seat but you’re too busy gazing outside the window to notice.

He wishes you would say something, anything to relieve him from this torture. Anything to make him forget about the fact that what he wants lies only inches away from his reach. All he has to do is spread his arm and…

“This is a nice ride you have.”

Good God, you’re killing him with that smile.

“Oldie but goodie, huh?” he catches you winking and bites down a sigh.

_You’re enjoying this._

He grunts a ‘thank you’ or at least he thinks he does before his eyes are back on the road in hopes of not killing you both today.

“You get in cars with strangers often?”

He’s not quite sure what came over him, but the need to ask was almost as big as the need to touch you right now.

You smile again, extending your hand for him to take and he quickly picks up on your offer. John’s palm envelopes yours, large and warm and sweaty enough to make you realize the effect you have on him. Your smile widens.

“The name is Y/N.”

His response comes with a clearing of his throat as if to ground himself in the moment, “John.”

You settle back on the seat with a grin on your face.

“See? No such thing as strangers anymore.”

He laughs, as to why he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s your attitude or maybe self-pity once he realizes how deep in the shit he really is. You overwhelm him.

* * *

 

It’s five am and no diner’s serving breakfast, of course. You settle for burgers and he thinks that’s good enough as long as you’re sitting right across him in the small faux leather-clad booth.

The food arrives in little time, filling both of your senses with the scent. John’s eyes never leave you but you seem entirely invested in the little basket that’s placed in front of you.

You feel his stare and decide to have your fun with him.

Your leg grazes against his, softly at first; barely there. Yet he feels it. It’s like electricity rushing through his body and his onyx eyes twitch.

You can’t help but smile in triumph.

“Split the fries?”

He nods and you quickly grab one to place in his mouth, lightly grazing his facial hair before moving your hand away. He happily munches on them and you take the opportunity to stuff one into your own mouth, only halfway in.

John’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and he gapes at the expectant look you’re giving him, the way your lips pout for him to understand. Then your face inches closer to his and the message is clear.

_Split them._

He groans and glares at the look you’re giving him; wide eyes and pouty lips driving him mad. “You’re impossible…”

His teeth sink into the soft flesh of the fry, merely inches away from your mouth and he quickly moves back to his seat like he’s Icarus and flying too close to the sun. The grin that pulls at your lips reminds him of a Cheshire cat. You wipe the bit of stray ketchup around your mouth, licking your finger clean.

John’s heart ceases its beat right then. He’s just meat and bones now, simply sitting there as the rest of your meal continues in silence. Your leg is still touching his. Your soft lips peck his own with every fry that you ‘share’ and all he does is gape at you in fear of this incredulous power you possess over him.

* * *

 

The fog inside his brain only clears up when your back hits the door of his house and he can feel your thighs around him, your mouth molding with his own. The weight of your body is nothing when carrying you to his room but there’s a sense of relief overwhelming him when he finally gets to lay you on the bed and he realizes that you’re still very much here, that this is not just a dream.

In the room that is twilight and shadow and sterile white surrounding you everywhere, your bodies are glued together, close enough to breathe the same air… relish in each other’s scent. He feels your hand in his hair. Oh, how you love the softness of it; dark locks tangling themselves between your fingers.

Then your hand is down his cheekbones, tracing the well-groomed beard down to his lips. He watches you in utter admiration, a mortal man paying homage to the goddess Venus herself. His mind’s enslaver.

You kiss him, long and sweet and rid him of all inhibitions. _He’s yours for tonight._

A laugh breaks John out of his reverie and he cracks an eye open, stealing a glance at the disheveled you. Your gleaming eyes are focused on the hindrance that his jeans are. _You want them off._

“Too many clothes…” you whimper, lips grazing his earlobe in a way that makes him shudder.

He nods in what you can only describe as desperation, making the mattress bounce softly as he lifts himself from the bed enough to fumble with the material on his legs that’s now beginning to itch the longer it restricts him. Soon enough, all his clothes are a mess on the floor as they should be and you beckon him back into your open arms, eager to rid your own clothes.

John watches a delicate hand wrap in the material of your V-neck, pulling it down enough to give him a heart attack when his gaze falls to your breasts; contained within a lacy bra and eager to be touched by his hands, his mouth.

_He aches._

“You gonna help me take this off or should I just help myself?”

He growls, low and dangerous and you almost shudder at how lovely he sounds. You do shudder though when his hands come in contact with the soft skin on your stomach and slowly tug the shirt off, taking in your scent that clings there. His mouth is surprisingly soft while trailing a path to your breasts. You work on your bra while he does and his hand squeezes yours as a ‘thank you’.

He doesn’t want to waste another moment.

Your skirt follows and you feel your back arch in anticipation, knowing where John’s hands will soon reach. His fingers slide over the tiny piece of fabric that your underwear consists of and your head rocks back against the pillow as they do, the first moan escaping your lips.

He drinks that sound in, he does. Suddenly, all that’s important is making you do it again and again till you’re begging him to stop and all that’s heard inside the room are the sounds that you’re making.

He yanks the lacy barrier off and you moan again, this time louder. His eyes darken impossibly so at the heavenly sound that seems to linger on your lips. They’re more sweet-sounding than your laugh, something seemingly impossible but he swears that it’s true.

Your hands wrap around his biceps, feeling the beautiful muscles up there and pulling him closer on top of your body. There’s no space to be left between your aching selves and he accepts it, feeds off it. His finger hesitantly grazes where your burning heat rests and he thinks he hasn’t done this in forever.

_He only hopes you can’t tell._

Yet you seize his movements, grabbing his hand and kissing the palm like it’s something sacred. John wants to laugh at the irony of that; those hands have killed and hurt and injured countless. It doesn’t matter when they’re touching you, of course. It almost feels like a cleansing of sorts, like redemption.

“Fuck foreplay?” his voice comes out in a grunt. He’s falling apart right in front of you and it’s hard not to bloody enjoy it.

You laugh, breathless as you are and all undone under his body, “Fuck foreplay.”

He fills you and it’s deliciously slow… until it’s not. The heels of your feet seem to dig in his behind with every thrust he gives but he doesn’t mind it. He couldn’t, not when he’s being so consumed by all that’s you.

Again and again, you squeeze around him and he grunts. _He’s fucking losing it._

All he can hear is the wonderful sound of skin slapping together and soft mutters of ‘John!’ that fall from your lips. His thrusts are becoming sloppier and he’s long lost his pace but you don’t seem to mind it. You’re both impossibly close to the edge.

When it comes, it’s like electricity shooting through his body. With a single, final thrust John buries himself in you, whispering something into your neck. Still, his fingers move vigorously to please you and it’s not long until you join him.

With panting breaths and still wandering hands, the fog in both of your visions starts to disperse. You hold each other through it, allowing your bodies to mold together in the late of the night – or rather, early morning.

John doesn’t take his eyes off you once until you’re succumbing to sleep and he follows you then, albeit hesitant.

He’s fucking terrified you’ll disappear from his side should he dare to close his eyes for more than a moment, but the prospect of sleep is almost as seductive as you and he gives in for the second time tonight.

True to his thoughts, you’re gone with the first morning light.


	3. A Little Something Missing

John fell asleep to a goddess that night. Light and cat-like while nesting by his side but warm enough to make his heart burn; the most bittersweet sensation. His cotton sheets that’d feel so cold all these long years now felt like satin, just like your skin. They too shared your heat and he relished in how they brushed against his body.

He watched you for hours and wondered to himself if there should ever be a word to describe you. He’d call you enchanting, captivating or rather, marvelous. No single word would do you justice, of course, for as you settled on his chest you were Aphrodite; the foam-born goddess herself somehow lost in his bed.

And he felt undeserving, he did. John thought himself solemn and sullen and ugly as can be but you wanted him apparently and that was good enough to put him to ease for now. He fell asleep to soft breathing in his ear and lovely skin under his palms that night.

* * *

There is a fleeting moment when he’s whole again but it evaporates faster than summer rain off the scorching hot asphalt outside. Then his lids that were drooping and leaden with sleep snap open as violently as if there had been sirens wailing.

The sweat trickles down his back, beads on his forehead and drips from his chin as if the sun had been burning above him the whole night. Still, he feels the chill in his blood, coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a standstill. That’s when he notices the sheets around his hips are freezing and the spot next to him is empty as it gets.

Your scent clings there. Powdery rose that’s engraved in his brain now.

Blinking away any remnant of sleep, John rises from the bed only to be met with deathly silence and the familiar sound of scratching downstairs. Bleu tends to get a bit uneasy when the house is too quiet for too long. And fuck, he hasn’t been fed for hours.

With a heavy step and an even heavier heart, John is down the stairs in an instant. The dog is manically working on chasing down his chew toy only to quickly push it away with his feet before grabbing it once more in his mouth. He almost laughs at the dog’s idiocy.

To his surprise, Bleu’s bowls are brimming with water and food; some of it already half-gone judging by the specks of kibble on the Bull Terrier’s snout. He’s pretty sure he didn’t do that himself and the mere gesture makes John crack a smile, secretly hoping that you didn’t run as he suspected.

He searches for you, following a trail of roses and peony that seems to lead him everywhere and nowhere all the same. Every inch of the house is covered in it like it was sprayed on the walls just to torture him.

 But of course, no sight of you.

When he finally gives up, he ends up in the shower, aching to get rid of any trace of you still on his skin. The light in the bathroom is bright and sterile, lacking even a trace of warmth. Every mark on his skin shines like a beacon and without clothes on, there is nowhere to hide from the truth of last night. Your nails have left marks and they burn on his back, lost somewhere between his tattoos but he loves it.

Despite the loud stream of water, all he can hear are your moans in his ear. Soft but sinful, like you. He feels your lips on him like a ghost. The brush of your fingers on his rib cage…

When he finds your earring tangled in his sheets, he decides he’s had enough.

_He needs to find you._


	4. The Mustang

The waitress makes her way to his table with all the grace of a newborn horse taking its very first steps. She has the air of a person in shock, someone whose brain is running someplace else. The girl looks as if she fell through a hole and ended up here, in this miserable place.

Tucking her dark hair behind about a thousand times, she pours him water with trembling hands. He feels bad for this poor young thing. Diane, her tag reads. She looks out of place in this shithole. Had it not been for his eyes searching for you everywhere, he might have paid her a bit more attention.

Diane looks relieved that the ordeal of filling his glass is over and rushes back to the kitchen, almost tripping over another patron’s foot. The whole tray comes down with a clang and it’s not long after that a stern, chubby man appears behind the counter.

He’s shouting loud enough for the half-broken light at the ceiling to shake dangerously, reminding John of a sling in the park just two blocks away from his house. This place is falling apart and he wonders what the fuck someone like you is doing in here.

There’s an ache in his chest for the girl that disappears behind some little door, tears pouring down her face as the horrible man follows suit. But then he hears your name being called, the one that’s lingered in his head all day. The same one he chanted like a prayer just hours ago in his bedroom.

You appear out of seemingly nowhere, a rug in hand and a frown in your face as you crouch on the floor to wipe it clean. John watches you in awe, you’re still a vision as much as before but there’s something wondrous about seeing you while dressed in evening light.

He loves that uniform on you. Then again, you could be wearing garbage bags and he’d think you’re fantastic. Still, the uniform suits you. It looks like something straight out of the 50s but unlike the rest of this place, it’s freshly washed and drowning in your scent, which he welcomes. It sits a little tight on your curves and he notices… everyone does.

There’s a light movement of your breasts with every swipe on the floor and well, he’s trying not to stare but he ’s long lost all willpower. He watches your lips pucker, blowing away that annoying strand of hair time after time before you finally give up and push it back with your arm. That’s when he catches a glimpse of the bruise-like mark on your neck. It only shows for a second but he sees it, of course, and he can’t help but smile.

Pride swells in his chest to see he’s marked you.

He only wishes the others could see.

When you rise from the ground, it’s a siren wail in his mind and his face disappears behind the grease-stained menu. It stinks of fried junk food and spilled soda drinks… and then it doesn’t.

There’s a tingling feeling that washes through his body as he’s being overwhelmed of that powdery rose that he’s dreamed of. It succeeds in fogging his mind every time.

“Good day to you, sir. What can I get you?” your voice reminds him of canaries singing and he thinks he’d like to listen to you talk all the time. You didn’t do much talking last night.

When he sets down the menu, the smile on your face is inviting. It makes him feel like he could share all his secrets, melt right in your arms like he wants to.

You make eye contact and the smile disappears, only briefly, before it blooms again on your lips like a heavenly flower. Like a lovesick fool, he smiles back just as wide.

You glance behind you to check no-one’s watching and John has the time to admire you fully. That dress is weaved from cotton candy, he swears. Your hair is pinned up with about a dozen pens, not that he’s counting. It leaves a soft burning feeling in his heart.

“What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner.”

“I’m sure you are, but why here?”

“Ugh, I heard this place is good?” his eyes fall back on the stained menu and he sighs.

You laugh, open and loud for everyone to hear. Someone clears his voice behind you and you turn to see your boss glaring daggers at you with those small, beady eyes of his and you  _You’ll stick a pen in his throat one day, that’s for sure._

The vixen’s smile returns upon your lips and John ceases to breathe as you lower yourself to his level, leaning down just enough to make him die with your cleavage and stop his heart as you whisper in his ear, “You’re a horrible liar, John Wick.”

His mind breaks out of its daze as if he was just doused in cold water.

“How d’you know my name?”

“It’s written on your doorbell, honey. I can read, you know.” You pull back and John takes this opportunity to breathe again. “It’s a nice name by the way… Sounds mysterious. What do you think, Mr. Wick, are you mysterious?”

His chest rumbles with chuckles and they’re warm. They make you smile wider.

“I don’t think I’m interesting enough to be mysterious.”

“Well, I find you very interesting. Almost as interesting as how the hell you managed to find me here.”

“Went back to the bar and found the owner closing up. He didn’t have a number to give me but from what he knew, you work in this shithole. I’m not still kind of doubting that course of action but… here I am.”

He feels your fingers softly knead through his beard and his heart stutters with every word that comes out of your mouth, “You shouldn’t. I’m glad that you are.”

He frowns at that.

“Are you? Because I did wake up alone, which wasn’t very nice, to be honest.”

You laugh at how this wonderful beast of a man with the broad shoulders and black onyx eyes has turned into a pouting puppy before you. It’s hard not to kiss him right now but you can feel the drilling gaze of the patrons on the table behind you and you figure they’ve waited enough.

“I had to leave for work and you were sleeping so peacefully, my heart couldn’t take it to wake you. You gonna hold that against me, Johnny?”

With a bat of your lashes, he melts. “You know I couldn’t.”

You smirk, “Goodie. Now go ahead and give me your order ‘cause the boss man inside is gonna have my head if we keep this up any longer. Spoiler alert; the food here tastes like cardboard.”

John breathes a bitter laugh.

“Well then, I guess I leave it to you to decide what has the least chance of killing me.”

“Alright then, I’ll be right back with your order.” You move to leave but his grip on your wrist stops you.

The way he grabs you is careless and unnecessarily strong, he can tell. And so he loosens it in fear of breaking what he deems so fragile. The thought that it may leave a bruise stings and you can tell by how soft his next words are.

“We’ll talk again?”

Seeing the doubt in his eyes saddens you and so you offer him a smile - one that you hope is comforting.

“My shift ends in an hour. I’ll meet you out in the back if you can wait.”

He nods and releases you but you don’t move away just yet. Your hand dances with his for a second and you squeeze it in hopes of putting him to ease. There’s a quirk on his lips that tells you it did.

* * *

 

Pulling out the very last pen, your hair is finally released and you sigh at the tingling feeling when some of it brushes against the sensitive skin on your neck, right where John marked you.

You never made an attempt to hide it. Why should you?

There’s nothing shameful to conceal from the world. And when it comes to a man such as John, you’d happily allow him to brand you all over. Your fingers graze over the bite mark, almost reliving the sensation right here where you’re standing. The effort he’d made to silence his moans…

It makes you shiver with excitement. You only hope he’s outside.

Making the best of the bathroom’s cloudy mirror, you try to fix as much as you can on your face. The heat in this place is unforgiving and it seems you can’t get rid of the heat on your cheeks. All you can do is wipe the last beads of sweat off your face.

As you lean down to grab your bag, a button pops open in your uniform, allowing more of your cleavage to spill out. You’ll have to fix that tomorrow, for sure, but for now, you simply smile at the thought of John’s reaction.

Waving Diane goodbye, you’re out the door in an instant, eager to be out of this godforsaken place and into the arms of a certain someone. John’s waiting outside as you asked.

He looks so good under the dim street lights, leaning against his Mustang with his hands buried deep in his pockets. A cigarette hangs from his lips and your mouth aches to replace it.

The moment he spots you, the cigarette is thrown on the ground and long forgotten. With a stomp of his foot, he puts it out before taking long steps towards you and grabbing your face in his hands. His palms are rough but incredibly warm and as they rub your cheeks so gently, they feel almost like cashmere.

Your lips connect far more harshly, teeth clashing together in eagerness. He tastes like coffee and smoke, but you find it hard to mind. When you finally part for air, you take a chance to admire him.

This look is a stretch from what you met him in last night; a full-on suit and slicked back hair. Tonight his hair is wild and welcoming to every touch of your hands. His suit is traded for a T-shirt and some jeans that you can’t help but think could cause delicious friction.

“You took pretty long.” He breathes just a couple of inches away from your mouth.

A laugh escapes you and you reach up to leave a kiss on his jaw, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I suppose you’re forgiven.”

You smile. “Any clue about where we’re going?”

“Someplace where it doesn’t smell like piss, preferably.”

Another giggle blesses his ears then, “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

 

You don’t move an inch. The car’s still parked in the diner’s parking lot but you’re too busy making out like teenagers to care. John is half shadow beneath you, every muscle on his torso flowing from the light into the dark. He holds you tight against his chest, your legs hanging on each side of his body. Your sexes press together in the most sinful way, providing delicious friction but not nearly enough to satisfy.

It’s so hot outside, the car’s A/C is working on full. Still, the heat of your bodies is making the driver’s window fog. You figure that should you part now, you would most likely freeze. Thankfully, it seems John wouldn’t even consider releasing you.

The man is kissing you desperately, aching to feed off your very essence. You’ve rid him of his soul and he seeks yours to replace it. His rough palm is exploring your bosom, exposing the delicious skin there as the uniform’s button pop open one by one.

The other hand grips your thigh, climbing up your skirt oh so dangerously. But he allows it to wander no further as if the contact itself might burn.

When you part, your heartbeat rings inside your ear. The look he gives you makes you melt like butter inside his tight embrace. You almost fear he’ll stop holding you.

“Let’s move this at home?” his tone is that of a man in despair, always begging.

“I can’t. I have a dog at home that needs me.”

The very sentence hurts to say, especially so when you spot the disappointment on John’s handsome face.

“Well fuck, so do I.”

“There’s always my place… but I doubt my roommate will appreciate how loud you can make me.” You whisper the last bit in his ear and feel his member twitch against your skin.

John groans and shakes his head, eager to escape this maddening spell but it’s fruitless.

Feeling bad for the poor man, you cease the torture. Your smaller hands grasp his face and guide him until his onyx eyes are piercing into yours. Your sensitive fingers relish in the feeling of his beard.

“This isn’t over. Just postponed.” When you see the hope ignite inside him, you smile and kiss him sweetly.

He prolongs the kiss with a bite on your bottom lip and you sigh in pleasurable pain.

It hurts to detach from each other and every move is carried out impossibly slow. Fixing the last button on your shirt, you pause enough to breathe. John is lighting a cigarette beside you, his gaze never wavering from the disheveled you.

You grin and play with fire then. Inching closer, you grab the cig from his puckered lips and take a long drag. He watches you exhale and the smoke surrounds you, making you look like some dark daydream.

Handing it back, you peck his cheek.

“I have to go.”

“I could drive you home.”

A smile blooms on your face at his eagerness.

“There’s no need, I live nearby. Besides, you already know where to find me.”

“Most people use phones.”

“We’re not most people.”

You watch his dark locks move along with his head.

“This isn’t over, you said?”

The expression on your face softens, “Of course not. I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Mr. Wick.”

And with that, you’re out of the car and shutting the door behind you, you feel the hot air wash over you – a sharp difference from the cold air inside the Mustang. When you glance behind you, John is still looking.

He watches you disappear into the night.


End file.
